Walking Home
by Erythros
Summary: At the end of the day, they aren't a pair of violinists. Instead, it's a boy walking a girl home, holding her hand along the way.


Context: Just after the sports fest in Chapter 59. Hino has a wound on her leg from pushing Fuyuumi out of the way of getting hurt by someone who fell. Just when she does that, Tsukimori gets something like a chill, and says to himself how he hopes she won't get hurt.

Note: AGH, thought vomit. I practically forced myself to write this. I really want to write them, but I'm experiencing a dry spell, and I can only ask that you guys give me prompts. Like a word. Yes. I hope you'll enjoy this, though.

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When the door to his usual practice room opened just when she was a few steps away, she somehow knew they were almost connected.

Her wound from saving Fuyuumi-chan was ten times better after Tsuchiura fixed it up, but her steps were slower and she couldn't help but limp. Obviously, _he _noticed it, with the way his eyes travelled down to her calf, with the way his lips began to curl into a frown.

"I knew you'd somehow get yourself hurt." Was what he said when he allowed her to pass into the room and closed the door behind him. She scanned the room for his violin; sure enough, it rested upon the desk by the window, as if he'd just held it minutes before she came.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I just had a feeling," he shrugged, "And it's inevitable anyway, considering how clumsy you really are, with or without the sports fest."

She huffed in indignation, seating herself and her violin case upon the piano bench. "Well, I got this from saving Fuyuumi-chan from getting hurt herself, Tsukimori-kun, _not _from any bout of clumsiness."

He almost smirked at that, and she huffed even more, even if her cheeks began to redden from almost seeing an almost-smile.

But if that wasn't enough already, in just a few seconds, he was right in front of her, kneeling to check on her wound, almost as if he did this every day to the point of being comfortable enough to be this _near._

"It's not a small wound, is it?"

"N-no."

"And you don't really think of the consequences, do you?"

"Hmm?"

He sighed, and then—he took her hands into his, looking over them carefully; her heart quickened just a little bit more. This wasn't the first time, she knew that, but every time still got to her, and she feared she would never get used to it, this business of hand-holding. She didn't understand how couples did it so naturally, so frequently, because every time _they _did it, her hands quivered with her heart.

"You're a violinist, Hino," he said, his eyes finding hers. "Your hands are your treasure." And as if to emphasize this statement, his fingers weaved through hers and somehow, _somehow_, he almost seemed to refuse to let go.

She nodded quietly, because her voice had left her, and her heart was helpless.

Sighing again, he released her hands and got up. "Let's not practice today, shall we?" he said. "You've had a long day anyway, and I doubt you'll be able to stand up for the rest of the session with that wound."

"But—" If anything, she didn't want to skip lessons; after all, wasn't he leaving at the end of the year?

But he didn't listen anyway. His violin was in his case, the room was locked, and in a few minutes, they were making their way to the school gates quite solidly, her limping figure just a few feet behind his.

The school was almost empty, that was clear enough. After all, it was almost six, and the sports fest had ended two or three hours ago. She didn't quite understand why he'd suddenly stopped by the gate, turned around, his expression quite determined, and waited for her to reach him.

"You're too slow," he said simply.

She _couldn't _help it, obviously. Her frown was enough to tell him that.

"It'll be dark once you reach home, you know."

"You're not suggesting I take a taxi home, are you?" she asked. "Because I'm _not, _not for a simple wound like this—"

"I'll walk you home." He cut her off quite cleanly and too smoothly, too, that her indignation had suddenly gone somewhere else, only to be replaced with something that felt rather fluttery.

"Eh...?" Walk her home?

He'd definitely done that before, just like he'd held her hands, but this was a new sensation, a new memory to add to the growing list that they'd shared in barely a year. "N-no, you don't have _to, _Tsukimori-kun—"

But he'd ignored her again, taking her free hand instead as he pulled her down the road to where they usually parted ways.

And now he wasn't letting go, either—rather, he'd slowed his pace to match hers, and pretty soon, they were side by side, fingers linked, almost as if—as if they were—

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked her quietly, and when she looked up at his face, she could have sworn he was blushing himself. She really couldn't understand how this was different from _that _hand-holding inside the practice room. She briefly worried if her palms got sweaty too soon. "It's just that you're _limping, _and you look like you'll trip any time, and—"

"I don't mind." Her voice was quiet as well, and her face was flushed, because this was all too new and all too _weird_ in a really, really lovely way. She didn't mind at all. Their steps were slower tonight, too, and she wondered if it was because she was limping... but somehow, it didn't matter.

"I'll walk you home tomorrow after lessons, too. Okay?" It was such a strange request, because it almost felt too natural for him to say it so casually. It was _far _from casual; they knew that much, and _yet--_

"Okay."

And he squeezed her hand gently.

He'd taken a piece of her heart that night; as they ambled down the road, she almost wished he didn't have to leave.

Somehow, she knew he felt the same way.


End file.
